Where My Demons Hide
by JayRain
Summary: Jowan didn't want to live in the Tower; he didn't want to become a blood mage; he didn't want to fall for the one girl off limits to him. But when he did, he realized he was out of options, starting him down a dark path to where the demons hide. Set in the Returns a King universe. Written for the Dragon Age Fanfiction Writers Group October Challenge.
1. Prologue: Where My Demons Hide

_Where My Demons Hide_

_DAFFW October Challenge_

_By JayRain_

_Prologue: Where My Demons Hide_

It was the coldest day yet out of Redcliffe, and Jowan could not stop shivering. He watched Cailan—no, _King_ Cailan struggle to build the fire in the camp. Any one of the Arl's men would have done it, but the King seemed intent on doing it himself. Jowan huddled into the threadbare cloak a soldier had tossed at him and wished that he'd not exhausted himself conjuring the blizzard during their most recent darkspawn encounter; he didn't even have enough mana within to spark a small fire.

The King had freed him and taken him along because he'd be useful. So far he'd done his best, but now? In the bitter Fereldan cold their small contingent sat clutching their cloaks close to them and rubbing their hands together. Jowan swore several Redcliffe soldiers kept glaring at him. _You could poison our Arl, but you can't light a fire? What kind of mage are you?_ They seemed to say.

It was a question he'd often asked himself in the long nights staring into the darkness of the apprentice dorms while his friends and peers seemed to move on in their studies, becoming Harrowed or Tranquil, but at least becoming _something_, while he, Jowan, just waited.

"Maker's balls!" King Cailan swore, falling back into the slush and waving his hand about while a thin column of smoke rose from the pile of wood. But his eyes were wide with excitement, and he scrambled to right himself and blow into the weak fire. "My father would hardly believe it," he said, glancing at Jowan, his face illuminated by the flames' orange glow. "He always tried to teach me how to build a fire, and I always blew it off. And now here I am, starting a fire." He grinned.

It was infectious, and Jowan grinned back. "In the Tower they had to find ways to stop us from starting fires," he said. "Me especially."

King Cailan raised an eyebrow. "I never figured you for a pyromaniac," he said.

"I'm not. I just couldn't control it very well. Just one more reason they were going to…" He looked away from the fire, from the king, from everything. Just one more reason he was a failure; just one more reason he wasn't good enough to be who he was born to be.

"You don't really talk about life in the Tower," the king observed.

"I don't think you'd really enjoy the stories, Your Majesty," Jowan said, still not daring a glance at him. He was grateful to the king for freeing him from the Redcliffe dungeons, and rescuing him from Lady Isolde's cruel torture. But he still wasn't sure how he felt about the king himself. Some days King Cailan was pensive and grim, every inch the king determined to save his country. Most days he was like this: a boy trapped in a man's body, learning as he went, and finding delight in his small victories. He was nothing like the senior mages and the templars said a king should be.

"I've told you before. You and everybody else. Just Cailan. Kings have countries they rule. I kind of don't right now," he said. Jowan expected him to still be grinning, but when he finally did glance at him, Cailan's face was grim and hard in the firelight. "But when I'm king again, I need to know my country, and that means knowing about the Circle Tower."

He had a point. But where to begin? "It wasn't the best place," Jowan started, staring into the flames and hugging the cloak closer as a chill shuddered through his body. "I don't know if that's what you want to hear though."

"I spent the last twenty-five years of my life surrounded by people telling me what I wanted to hear. Or what they thought I wanted to hear, or _should_ hear," Cailan said, surprising Jowan with the vehemence in his voice. "You ran, so it's not great, I get it," he said. "But… wasn't there anything good about being a mage? Pretty mage girls?"

Jowan wasn't prepared for the pinprick of tears behind his eyes, or the way his throat tightened or his chest clenched. He swallowed. "There were some of those, yes," he managed. "Though… none ever looked at me as anything other than another apprentice."

Cailan studied him with those eyes of his that seemed to see more than he ever let on. More and more it seemed that he'd gotten used to being underestimated, and used it to his advantage the best he could. "But another girl did. Not a mage," Cailan guessed. He leaned forward, one arm resting on his knee. "I could use a good story," he said, face softening.

"It doesn't have a happy ending," Jowan warned.

"Good stories rarely ever do." Cailan was watching him intently, and Jowan, who had never been very good at dealing with unwanted attention, squirmed. He smiled, but he wasn't going to let Jowan go without hearing a story.

Jowan turned his eyes to the soft orange glow of the flames and inhaled the smoke: it was pungent and earthy, nothing like the hazy spices of incense, yet it still brought him back to afternoons in the chapel and mornings stolen away… "The demons in the Fade aren't the ones with the real power," he began.

Cailan tilted his head to the side. "So where _does_ a blood mage find the most powerful demons?"

"The past."

**Author's Note: **For the Dragon Age Fanfiction Writers Group October challenge, we had to pick a song and write a story based on it. This is a story I've wanted to write for a long time. I came to really enjoy working with Jowan in Returns A King, and looking at his background and his flight from the Circle is something I wanted to explore.


	2. Made of Gold

_Chapter 1: Made of Gold_

He was supposed to be praying for forgiveness, but he didn't know why he should bother anymore. At this point, shouldn't the fucking Maker apologize to _him_ for having made him a mage? After all, Jowan had never asked to be born at all, let alone born a mage. If he'd been born normal, mundane, regular, maybe he could have tolerated the beatings and beratings before running away and learning a trade. But he was a mage, and beatings and beratings had given way to… more beatings and beratings.

The Circle was supposed to train him, to teach him to use his abilities and to protect him from the outside world. In the fourteen… fifteen? years he'd been here, he still had yet to discover any differences between his old life and this one.

He tried to focus on the good: his friendship with Neria Surana; the occasional encounter with Anders, who, when he spared Jowan a kind word, gave Jowan a sort of credibility; the gardens, with the herbs and flowers he hoped to learn to use…

And Lily.

His beautiful flower, the one bright spot in all the ugliness that was Circle life.

She was supposed to be praying too, but she had told him once that she didn't pray. "It's silly," she'd confided in a whisper, as if that heresy would be worse than the fact she was talking to a mage as if he were a real person, and not some dangerous _thing_. "Everyone knows the Maker hasn't interacted with His people in centuries. And Andraste? She was just a person, just like you and me."

"Say it again," Jowan had murmured, and Lily's golden brown eyes searched his face. "A person, just like you and me."

She cocked her head to the side, her short auburn hair grazing one shoulder and he longed to brush it away, but still couldn't bring himself to believe that she was real, that this was real; if he tried to treat it normally, the vision would dissolve and it would be endless dark days of drudgery. "A person, just like you and me," she said at last, and as soon as she did her face broke into a smile. "I understand now," she said. "We're just people. Not mage and initiate. Just…"

"Just Jowan and Lily," he said.

Now that he knew she didn't pray, and she knew he didn't, the farce was difficult to keep up. Here in the chapel there were ceaseless patrols of Chantry sisters and templars strolling by making sure that the mages were rightfully penitent. And Lily always made sure to commit some careless infraction that got her, as an initiate, sent to pray for atonement.

Many called the Circle hopeless. Jowan decided to take what victories he could get.

The censer sat between them, giving just enough of a semblance of piety that no one bothered them. Jowan knelt at the altar with his face buried in his arms. If he shifted his head just a little bit, he could see Lily's pink shimmery robe. And then he could imagine her pink, shimmery skin beneath. He shuddered and tried to think of something other than Lily, but he could practically smell her over the dull spicy smoke of the incense. It was a relief when she picked up her censer and got to her feet because it meant that prayer was nearly over. He did not look up, but heard the muted shuffle of her soft boots on the stone floor.

Initiates had no need to go outside either, she'd once told him. It made him love her more than ever and filled his head with dreams of escape and golden sunlight shining down on them, just Jowan and Lily.

Her hand hung down at her side and ever so slightly her fingers trailed across his shoulder. He didn't realize he had this level of willpower, to stay still and wait until her footfalls had receded. And then he counted to one hundred, as slowly as he could. And if his shoulders where shuddering, any passing templar or Chantry mother would think he was sobbing with contrition. Sometimes, the Chantry's obsession with guilt was helpful.

_Ninety-nine… One hundred…_

He picked himself up, keeping his head bowed. He tucked his hands in his sleeves so no one noticed them shaking. Most of the time, he thought it was stupid, the way mages were expected to wear robes; what harm would regular clothing have done? But times like these he was grateful that the Chantry picked out his clothes for him.

They had an hour between vesper prayers and dinner, and the assumption was that prayer would continue in other parts of the Tower. Jowan's feet knew the way to go, and anyone who passed him would have nodded approval at his bowed head and flushed cheeks. Most went back to the dormitories, so the halls were clear as he found his way to the storerooms.

He paused outside the door to reach out with his mana and feel for any magical glyphs or traps that may have been set. They were careful, _so_ careful, but the fear of losing Lily made him paranoid. He would only feel truly safe if they fled this place.

When they fled this place.

There were no traps, magical or otherwise; Lily had taught him how to check the doors for switches and triplines. When he asked how she knew these things, she gave him a sly smile and said, "Don't worry about it now." And he never did.

"Lily?" he whispered, closing the door behind him.

And then there she was, sliding into his arms just like she belonged there. He rested his cheek on her head, inhaling the spicy incense scent that clung to her. He closed his eyes. Everything slipped away and time stopped. This was golden perfection.

"Jowan." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Mmm?" he asked, still breathing her warm and spicy scent.

"Run away with me."

It was like the sun breaking through the clouds. He smiled. "Anything for you," he told her, and he meant it.


	3. Dreams All Fail

_Chapter 2: Dreams All Fail_

He thought maybe she'd been joking, because he didn't see her at daily prayers for the next two days.

"You're hiding something," Neria, accused. She reached across the table and slid his bowl of porridge toward her. She was always hungry, but still remained lithe and willowy. He supposed she needed all that energy for her potent elemental spells. "Spill." She shoveled the porridge into her. Maybe her hunger was left over from growing up poor in the Denerim Alienage.

"It's nothing," he said with a forced smile, but he couldn't meet Neria's eyes, and even if he did she would know he was lying.

Her big green eyes searched him and he felt the mana in the air tingling around them. Finally she shrugged. "Suit yourself. So did you hear they finally made Keili Tranquil?" She said it so casually. But her spoon hovered over the bowl and trembled ever so slightly.

It was no shock; Keili was always going on about how Tranquility was the only thing that could make her right before the Maker. Jowan had stopped caring about such things long ago. "Don't ever let them do that to me," he choked out, reaching for Neria's sleeve.

She shook her head and smiled, though it did not quite reach her eyes. "They'd have to get through me, first," she said. It was a running joke between the two of them. Jowan was nothing close to physically imposing; few mages actually were. But Neria, as an elf, was far slighter. It usually got them a laugh, but this morning, with the news of Keili, and Jowan's plans with Lily, he couldn't do much more than shrug while his stomach churned.

He stood. "I'm going to go study. Maybe then they'll finally Harrow me so I don't have to keep listening to little kids crying at night," he said.

"You _were_ one of those kids," Neria reminded him, stirring at her half-finished porridge. "So was I. They can't help it, so don't be mean."

"I'm not trying to be," he told her, and it was true, but in his anxious mood it was hard to sound sincere. He headed for the library, dragging his feet so the halls wouldn't seem so silent. He hated the silence. It made his thoughts so loud.

He hated hiding things from Neria. She had stuck by him since they met and she told him everything, from her crush on the templar Cullen to her insider knowledge about their phylacteries.

_Shit._ The phylactery.

When Lily had asked him to run away with her, he'd been so drunk on the idea of freedom and a life spent with her that he'd forgotten about the vial of blood that bound him to the Circle more tightly than any chain ever would. It was why few mages ever dared to run: there was no point. For as much as the Chantry maligned blood magic, they certainly didn't mind using blood when it was convenient for them.

"Stop, mage."

The muffled voice came out of nowhere and Jowan jumped. His heart raced and he hoped he hadn't wet his robes. The templar stood in the corner, lounging between the walls, helmet down. He hated when they did that; he could never tell if they were angry, or laughing at scaring him. He stood as if he'd been caught doing something wrong. Then again, he'd been thinking about his phylactery, and thinking bad thoughts about the Chantry. He was going to hell for certain.

"Where are you going?"

"Library," Jowan muttered. He was one of the oldest apprentices, true, but he had every right to go there. Why did he feel like he was doing something wrong?

The blank helmet stared at him until he began to squirm. "What are you studying?"

"Magic," Jowan said. "Entropy. Restoration. Primal. Sprit." The helmet watched him and Jowan began to feel irritated. "Andraste? The Maker? Memorizing the Chant?"

"Don't get smart with me, _apprentice,_" the templar hissed, voice hollow within the helmet.

Jowan's nerves snapped. "I'm just going to the fucking library!" he shouted. "Did you pass some rule about that while I was eating breakfast?" He staggered back, lost his balance, and sprawled on the floor, feeling as if the air had been sucked from his lungs. He saw stars.

"Next time I'll use my fist to smite you," the templar said, still lounging against the wall, and Jowan was certain he was smiling. "Fuck off. I'll be watching you."

It took a moment for Jowan to get his breath, and to get his legs under him enough to stand. When he did he swayed slightly. There was a lump in his throat and his hands and feet tingled while his face burned. Suddenly the only thing that mattered was finding Lily and getting the fuck out of here.

He raced through the library gulping in the air while tears choked him and he was trying _so hard_ not to cry in front of the templars or the younger apprentices, most of which thought he was a failure anyway. He didn't even know where to look for Lily; they only ever met in the chapel during prayers and in the storage caverns afterward. They'd never arranged to meet at a random time.

He was in no mood to even fake-pray, so he headed straight to the storage cavern. He would miss classes, but he didn't care; he would wait here for days if it meant seeing Lily. He cast a furtive glance about to see if anyone was watching, and when he felt comfortable he sidled into the cavern, latching the door behind him.

The air was musty and dank, but there was a faint spicy smell that made his heart leap into his throat. "Lily?" he whispered to the dark.

She didn't speak. Her hand touched his arm and trailed down his sleeve so she was grabbing his wrist. Her hand was warm, like a ray of sunlight just for him. He conjured a tiny blue wisp so he could gaze on her lovely face, and he saw she was crying. Claws dug into his chest. "What's wrong?" he asked. He should have been ecstatic to find her here, waiting for him, but instead he felt tingly and ill.

"I had to pass the First Enchanter's office to get here," she said in a strangled whisper. "I shouldn't have, but… I couldn't help but stay and listen." She turned her teary eyes up to his face and her clutch tightened around his wrist. "Your friend, the elf."

"Neria?"

"Yes, her," Lily said with an impatient wave of her other hand. She'd never cared much for Jowan's friendship with Neria Surana, no matter how much he told Lily that she was the golden one, the only one he ever wanted. "She's being Harrowed tonight."

Jowan blinked, speechless. He and Neria had talked about the secretive ritual many times. It marked you as a true Mage of the Circle. And now Neria was going for her Harrowing. No one ever spoke about the outcome of the Harrowing; if you passed, you passed and that was it. If you didn't...

"I'm glad for her," he said, but his voice shook.

"You're scared for her, too," Lily said.

He shrugged and leaned against the wall, pulling her close to him so he could focus on the feeling of Lily against him while his heart raced. "I am. She's my friend and I don't want to see her die, or be made Tranquil." He inhaled deeply, eyes closed. Lily always smelled warm and spicy from the incense she carried, but he never thought of it as something religious; it was just _her_. "And I guess I'm jealous," he finally admitted. "It's getting a bit awkward being surrounded by kids fifteen years younger than I am." He tried to laugh. It sounded like a grunt.

"There's something else," she said, her voice so small and scared that she sounded like she could break. "And what's worse, I think it's my fault." She shook and clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle her oncoming sob.

Jowan felt cold all over. A Cone of Cold would have felt warm at this point.

"They think… that you're practicing blood magic." She clutched the front of his blue apprentice robes. "You disappear so often and… they want to make you Tranquil."


	4. The Sinners Crawl

_Chapter 3: The Sinners Crawl_

This whole day was a horrid joke. He stifled his laughter, his shoulders shaking with his restrained hysterics. "It's not your fault at all," he finally told Lily, who was pale and sickly in the blue wisp light. "It's this whole terrible place. It twists us with fear and guilt and if we don't become what they want, they kill us or make us unable to resist." He took her by the shoulders and searched her frightened eyes. "We'll go. As soon as we can."

"What if they make you… you know… tonight?" she asked, blinking the tears away.

The thought made Jowan nauseous, but he cupped her chin in his hand and met her eyes. "I'll die first," he said, and he'd never meant anything so seriously in his life. Suddenly nothing mattered: the asshole templar, his studies, his attempts at looking pious. Doing the right thing got him nowhere.

"What will we do?" Lily asked, her voice small and childish, and he held her close to him, stroking her hair and letting her fill his arms. She pulled back though and looked up at him. "What about your phylactery?"

His blood was a grim reality. Had always been a grim reality, really. "I hope Neria survives the night," he said simply. "Let me talk with her. We'll meet in the chapel tomorrow night." Suddenly the storage cavern felt too close and he thought he might implode. He planted a kiss atop Lily's head. "We'll make this work. I… I love you, Lily," he said.

She surprised him by kissing him long and hard on the mouth, taking his breath away. She'd never kissed him before, not like this; always a chaste peck on the cheek, maybe once a slight peck on the lips. He tasted her lips, expecting cinnamon or spice, but she was sweet and maybe a little salty, and the kiss was over before he could really decide what he thought.

He didn't know where to go now. He couldn't risk seeing Neria and letting her know about her Harrowing. But he couldn't keep still. He ended up outside under a bright blue sky. He sat down at the lake's edge and listened to the water lap at the sad strip of pebbly sand that passed for their shoreline. He squinted out over the water and thought he could see the dark strip of land across the expanse of cold water. Freedom.

The lake posed another problem he hadn't quite considered. Even if they managed to destroy his phylactery, could they get to a shore, any shore, before they were caught? And once there, how far would they make it before they caught up to them?

* * *

><p>He wandered through a sallow meadow, over hillocks and through arches of gnarled tree branches. Sometimes he thought he saw shadows out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned they were gone. Jowan sat down on a stone bench that appeared seemingly out of nowhere and waited.<p>

He sat down next to himself, only this Jowan was wearing the orange robes of a Harrowed mage. His face was scruffy and he wore a self-satisfied smirk that made him ooze confidence that real-Jowan had never felt. "You can do this," he said.

Jowan searched the face of his doppelganger: a version of himself that was everything he wanted to be, and everything he would never be now that the First Enchanter had decided to make him Tranquil. The other Jowan never blinked, his eyes so dark they seemed black and endless, mesmerizing him. That confident smirk drew him in, and those orange robes, symbolic of the only thing he'd wanted (besides Lily), made him ache with longing. "How?" he rasped.

The doppelganger reached out and took his hand, turning it palm up. Without ever breaking eye contact, he set a sharp knife in his hand.

Jowan blinked, and when he did it wasn't himself sitting there, it was Lily. Her glossy auburn hair had been let down from the bun she usually wore it in, and it framed her milky complexion and made her brown eyes even warmer. "Anything for me, Jowan," she said in that tone he could never resist. She stood, her Chantry robes dissolving into a fine mist. He stared up into her face while she pressed the knife more firmly into his hand and he understood.

"They're going to make me Tranquil anyway," he reasoned, resting his other hand on her smooth, bare buttock and feeling a stirring beneath his robes. "And… and it's just until we run away together."

"Just you and me," Lily said, straddling his lap and sitting. She felt his hardness and smiled so coyly, and Jowan pressed her to him and felt her breasts through his robes. Then his clothing melted into mist and it was just Jowan and Lily, two people in love and…

He must have slept late because the apprentice dorms had mostly cleared out and Neria's bunk right above his had been stripped. Jowan stared at the underside of her bed for long minutes, and it seemed to spin, the way the ceiling did whenever he'd sneaked a little too much wine with Neria or Lily.

Lily. His heart leapt in his chest and his stomach churned and while he wanted to think it was just a dream, the reality was that for mages, dreams were never just dreams. The Fade was more real than this world sometimes. Jowan sat up and his head throbbed. It was this place: the communal dorm, the rigid schedule, the dull walls. He needed to get out and he needed Lily by his side.

But first he had to find Neria, assuming she'd survived her Harrowing.

He didn't want to take the time to clean himself up, but if today was the day he was running with Lily, he wanted to look nice for her. So though his hands trembled, he combed his hair and lathered for a shave. The blade slid across his skin and he watched it in the looking glass with new fascination. _It's only to get out of here,_ he reasoned. _Just do what I have to, for me and for Lily. Then never again._

He headed out of the apprentice dorms and did not look back. From now on he had to look forward. He had to do anything that was necessary to his plan for himself and for Lily. "Excuse me," he said to the first templar he found, pacing listlessly through the library. "Can you tell me where I might find Ser Cullen?" His heart was racing and he didn't know if he could lie if the templar asked why… but the faceless suit of armor pointed to the stairwell that led up to the enchanters' quarters. Poor guy was probably going through lyrium withdrawal, Jowan reasoned.

Cullen stood guard at the stairwell, and he regarded Jowan, in his apprentice blue robes, suspiciously. "I'm looking for Neria Surana. Elf, blonde hair, pretty eyes," Jowan said, though Cullen knew full well who Neria was. He dropped his voice and leaned in. "I heard she… well… you know, last night," he said and Cullen looked nervous.

"You're not supposed to know that," he said, but didn't move to threaten Jowan.

Jowan remembered the orange-robed version of himself: the confidence and the ease with which he spoke. "Neria's my best friend," he said. "I just want to know if she's okay."

Cullen exhaled with a whistle and the flush died down out of his cheeks. "She survived," he said simply. "She was moved into an enchanters' suite first thing this morning. I think you'd probably pass by on your way to midday prayers," Cullen said casually. "Maker watch over you," he said and headed off before Jowan could fully process what was happening.

A templar had… helped him?

He wasn't going to let this shake his resolve, though. He made his way through the halls, which were much quieter than those around the apprentice dormitories, and peered around corners looking for a glimpse of Neria's blonde hair.

"Hi."

Neria's voice behind him made Jowan jump. He spun around and pressed his back against a wall. "You scared me," he accused, trying to be playful, but it sounded tense and whiny.

He wasn't sure if it was the new orange robes clashing with her light skin and blonde hair, or if it was the Harrowing that left her looking washed out and a little ill. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

They stared at one another for a long minute. It was much quieter up here than in the apprentice quarters. "Congratulations," Jowan said at last. "I'm happy for you."

"Are you?" Neria asked. Oddly, she didn't even seem happy for herself.

"Why wouldn't I be?" She stared him down. She always saw more than just about anyone else Jowan knew, and she always saw into him. He couldn't hide anything from her, and these past months that he'd been with Lily had as painful as they'd been euphoric. "Fine." He sighed. "Can we go somewhere less… public?" he asked, though it was silly, since as a Harrowed mage Neria now had her own room.

She nodded and he led her to the chapel. "This is less public?" Neria asked, looking around.

Jowan grabbed her hand and led her to the dark corner where he usually pretended to pray. He knelt and bowed his head, and after a moment Neria sighed and dropped to her knees. There was no one around this early in the day, but the months of sneaking around had made Jowan wary enough to keep up the ruse just in case. "I am happy for you," he said after a pause to gather his spinning thoughts. "But… I found out something. They're… they're going to make me Tranquil."

"They have to go through me first," Neria said quietly. She sat back on her heels and stared up at the statues of Andraste that presided over the chapel.

"I'm serious this time. They think I'm a blood mage!"

"Are you?"

He remembered his dream-but-not-a-dream last night, how easy it all seemed, and how Lily looked when she sat in his lap and stared into his eyes… "I'm not sure," he confessed in a choked whisper. "There's more you need to know. There's a girl." Neria raised an eyebrow. "Her name is Lily. She's the one who told me. She and I… we want to run away."

Neria finally smiled. "Have you learned nothing from Anders?"

"This is different," Jowan said. "He's Harrowed. I'm an apprentice, which means they can do whatever they want with me and other than using… you know, I'm powerless. And Lily's not…" He suddenly didn't know how to tell Neria just how deeply fucked he was. "You need to meet her. And then I need to ask you to help me. You can say no, but you really are the only one who can help."

"Because I'm Harrowed now?" She sounded almost defensive.

"No! I was going to ask you to help me before I knew this was going to happen!"

Neria got to her feet. She looked down on Jowan, and for a moment he felt the rift between them. They were still Jowan and Neria, mages of the Circle, but because they wore different colored robes now they were completely different. But then she rested a hand on his shoulder and he felt a thread of her mana surge into him and make him calmer; she'd always been good at restoration. "I want to meet Lily. Tonight, in the basement." She met his eyes and he realized she knew what he was asking of her.

Neria left, and he stayed with his head bowed, praying that anyone or anything that was listening would bring Lily to him.


	5. Hell Bound

_Chapter 4: Hell Bound_

Lily wasn't sure about trusting Neria, but Jowan insisted it was the only way. "Please, Lily," he whispered, stroking her hair. "If you can't trust Neria, at least trust me?" At last she agreed and, wearing dark cloaks, they headed for the basement. Jowan had a small pouch at his side with a little bit of lyrium he'd pilfered from the storage closet, and his knife. Just in case. He told himself it was to help them survive once they got out of the tower. He told Lily the same thing. He also told her he loved her and she kissed him fiercely once more before they glided through the halls like ghosts.

Neria was waiting for them, still in her orange enchanters robes. "This is Lily," Jowan said and he smiled with pride at his beautiful golden flower when she removed her hood.

"Are you fucking daft?" Neria said. He stared at her in confusion; why wasn't she happy for him? He'd been happy for her Harrowing, and how was this any different? "She's a fucking _sister!"_

"I haven't taken vows; I'm just an initiate," Lily said, eyes narrowed and arms crossed over her chest. "Coming to the Chantry wasn't my idea, let alone coming to this Maker-forsaken place." She wrapped one arm around Jowan's waist and rested her other hand on his chest. "We just want to go and start our life together," she said, her voice softer and less hostile. When Neria kept watching them, she said, "I know for a fact they're planning to make him Tranquil; I heard it from the First Enchanter himself. Every day we put this off we risk Jowan's life."

Neria looked past Lily and at Jowan. "I'm doing this for you," she told him. "I always told you they'd have to go through me, first. I meant it."

Jowan knew about the basement and the repository beneath it, but only recently had Neria revealed that she knew that was where their phylacteries were kept. "Did Cullen tell you?" he teased as they went along. She said nothing, but her ears turned red in the wisp light she'd conjured.

It was cold down here, and he assumed the tunnels stretched out under the lake. He tried not to think of all that icy water pressing around them, slowly cracking the stones, imploding the tunnels…

Neria knew her way around so well, he couldn't help but be suspicious. She was less than one day Harrowed, and apprentices were told stories of the evil that lurked down here for their own protection. Most were to guilty or frightened to try, and the ones that did, few and far between as they were, never came back. He reached out his hand behind him, and Lily took it. She moved so silently. He wondered who had chosen to send her to the Chantry, and why the Chantry chose to send her here; not that he would have complained. But it piqued his curiosity. He'd have to ask him when they were far away from here.

They stopped in front of a huge wooden door bound in black iron. Jowan felt the magic emanating from it: spells he'd never learned, but knew were strong. Out of curiosity he reached out for the lever, and an electric shock blasted him backward. He blinked and hoped he could not smell his hair singeing. His hand felt a bit numb. Lily rubbed his shoulder. They all were too nervous to speak.

Neria reached for the door. It shocked her, but not as badly. She swore and shook out her hand. She stared at the wards, squinting in the dim light. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she reached out to them from the Fade. The light of the runes wavered, then went dark. Jowan allowed himself to feel hopeful, before a blast of green energy exploded outward, knocking Neria back into a wall.

"Neria!" he gasped, running to her side while Lily hung back. He channeled his mana around his nerves and laid his hands on her and after a moment Neria stirred. "Are you okay?" he asked, searching her pale face.

"Just a flesh wound," she said with a grimace as she pushed herself to her feet. She swayed a bit and held onto Jowan's shoulder. "The door won't open." Jowan gulped and felt his blood turn to ice. "I didn't want to do this, but… well, you're looking to escape, right? Do you care what they think?"

"No, not really," Jowan said grimly. "I just don't want them following us."

He didn't know what Neria had in mind, but she led them away from the repository door and down another few twists and turns. In darkness this deep their wisp lights were dim, almost casting more shadows than light. At last they found another door, but it was locked. "Allow me," Lily said, brushing past Neria. She pulled a pin from the bun in her hair, reminding Jowan uncomfortably of his dreams of her, but she only took that one pin and knelt before the door. She fiddled some, then slipped out one more pin, letting a couple of locks fall. She swore under her breath, things no true Chantry initiate would ever say, and after another moment there was a loud click and she pushed the door open.

Neria only gave a grudging nod before taking the lead again. There was light again, not the chilly blue of wisps, but a warmer reddish torch glow. They'd found the artifact storage. Jowan glanced around in awe of the statues and urns, the rows of scrolls and jars of powders and liquids. All these things stored right below their feet, and hidden by veneers of guilt and fear. He couldn't wait to get out.

They stopped before one bare wall. "How's your stonefist?" Neria asked him with a wry grin. Jowan stared at the wall and realized what she was asking him to do. To destroy his phylactery, he would have to destroy part of the tower itself. He didn't answer, just stood back with Neria. He tried to focus and draw upon his mana; it was hard, between the permeating chill and his anxiety. He thought of his knife in his side pouch.

_NO._

He gathered up his magic reserves and focused them into primal energy, which he let loose upon the wall. His stonefist smashed into the wall, pounding the stone and sending spider webs of cracks out. Neria did the same, and her spell punched into the impact zone of Jowan's spell. Clouds of dust made them cough, and a cold wind rushed out to meet them. It cut through Jowan's cloak and next to him, Neria shivered.

Inside the repository was covered in frost and colder than any winter Jowan had experienced. "They use Cone of Cold to preserve the blood," Neria explained. She headed for the shelves lined with countless tiny crystal bottles. Some were covered in thin layers of frost, and as Jowan neared he felt the magical power thrumming from each bottle of blood. It sang to him, with the lovely song of freedom and love and escape.

Neria's hand hovered over one bottle that did not have any frost on it. "They made me a new one once I was Harrowed," she said.

"How do you know which one is yours?" he asked. His phylactery had been made the day he'd come to this place. He didn't even have the scar on his arm anymore, it was so long ago.

"It sort of sings to you," Neria said with a strange smile. She did not touch her phylactery, as if her hand would leave behind evidence she did not wish to leave. "Listen, and you'll hear it." Jowan nodded as if he now understood, but they _all_ sang to him. He paced along the shelves, looking up and down and trying to listen for a song that was louder and stronger than the others. Neria watched him. "You really are a shitty mage," she said with an odd grin.

Jowan only shrugged. He dared a glance back at Lily, who had pulled up her hood against the cold and was looking around nervously. He let her be his guide. He thought of the home they'd start. It would have to have a flower garden. Herbs and vegetables probably, too, but definitely flowers. They'd lived too long in a world of practicality, where beauty was not only unappreciated, but discouraged.

Only then did he hear it, a song clear and high and lovely above all the others. His blood rushed in his veins and guided his hand until it closed on a small bottle on a high shelf he could just barely reach. It was warm in his hand, and oddly enough, considering how long he'd been here, not frosty. He clutched it as anger began to brew inside. If they'd made Neria a new phylactery once she was Harrowed, had they taken his out to prepare to make him Tranquil?

"What are you going to do with it?" Both Neria and Lily asked the same question at once, and they glared icicles at one another.

First Jowan looked at Neria. "Are you going to take care of yours?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe someday, maybe never. I said I'd help you tonight, and that's what I'm doing."

"Hurry," Lily hissed, suddenly at his side and ignoring Neria completely.

Jowan looked over at her, shivering next to him, and then down at the bottle in his hand. It was so strange to suffer so much fear and doubt over something so tiny. It seemed such an inconsequential amount of blood; and yet, that tablespoon or so of blood was all that held him apart from a life of freedom with his Lily.

He held his palm out flat, then tilted it. The little glass bottle rolled off his palm and fell to the frosty stone floor, where it shattered. His blood was a dark splotch among the frost and shards of glass. Already it was starting to freeze on the icy stone. He thought he would feel something when that bond what broken, but he felt no different.

"I'm free," he whispered to Lily, angling his head down to kiss her, but she was tugging on his hand, dragging him to the hole he'd helped blast in the wall. He cast a desperate glance back at Neria, who in turn was looking back at her phylactery. She shook her head and swore, sweeping the bottle off the shelf and hurling it at a wall before hiking up her robes and running after them.

They ran up the stairs, all three breathless; the Circle didn't exactly encourage physical fitness. In the darkened foyer their steps slowed and Jowan struggled to keep his breathing quiet as they hugged the walls and shadows. They passed the apprentice dorms and he was not sad to be leaving them; he didn't even feel pity when a younger child woke up crying. Hell, it would probably even cover their escape.

Suddenly Neria staggered backward as if she'd run into an invisible wall. It knocked Jowan back, too. Only Lily remained standing. "What happened?" she asked, her eyes wide with terror. She looked around while Jowan tried to get his breath.

"It was a smite," he said grimly. He saw torchlight approaching and tried to shake it off and get to his feet. He felt shaky, but managed to reach down and drag Neria to her feet. He looked around, but torches were coming from the other direction. "Lily… Neria… do you trust me?" he asked at last.

"What kind of dumbass question is that?" Neria asked. "Of course I do."

He smiled. He shouldn't have had to ask. He looked at Lily. She looked scared. "Please Lily," he said, trying to stay calm. "This is all for you. For us." He took her in his arms, and that was how Knight-Commander Greagoir, First Enchanter Irving, and a half dozen templars, including Cullen, found them.

"What you said _was_ true, Irving," Greagoir said, shaking his head. "And an initiate! Conspiring with a blood mage!" Lily said nothing. All of her impish confidence that Jowan loved so much seemed to have dissipated. Greagoir pushed passed him and roughly took Lily's chin in his hand, searching her eyes deeply before letting go. "She seems in control of her own mind at least, no longer a thrall of this… _maleficar,_" he spat.

If anything, Jowan had been a thrall of Lily's but he said nothing. His heart raced and he only hoped he could remain conscious long enough to save them all. He knew he could do it. He would do anything for Lily. Even prove them right.

"I'm disappointed in you Neria Surana," Irving said. Where Greagoir had been angry and on the verge of shouting, Irving's voice was soft and maybe even sad. "You had such promise; you could have come to tell me what you knew, and you didn't." He shook his head and looked away.

"Enough," Greagoir said. "As Knight-Commander of this tower, I sentence the blood mage Jowan to death!" He turned and nodded to Cullen. "And this initiate has betrayed the Chantry and scorned her vows. Take her to Aeonar!"

The mages' prison. They'd read about it in history, and knew nothing more than that it existed. But those who went to Aeonar simply stopped existing. They never escaped, were never released, and were never heard from again. After a time Jowan started to think that Aeonar was just another story made up to scare the apprentices into submission.

But Lily's face showed true fear. "No, please, not there," she begged, backing away from Cullen, who looked rather sorry for having to follow his Knight-Commander's orders.

Neria leapt to action, calling up another stonefist to blast Cullen away. "I once told you they'd have to get through me first," she said to Jowan. "Go!" but Lily wasn't moving, and suddenly Neria's spell faltered and failed. She stood looking shocked, and Jowan realized that Greagoir had cleansed the room. Even Irving looked a bit dazed. He reached out, but there was no mana within himself, and none that could be felt in the air about them.

The templars closed in on Lily. Neria stood her ground, grim, and holding out her staff like a weapon. "No!" he shouted. "You _will not_ touch her!"

Mana was the power source of all mages. Templar spells focused on disrupting and cleansing mana, and so long as the room was full of templars, mana would be inaccessible and therefore useless.

But they could not control blood.

His knife was in his hand and the blade stabbed into his wrist and the blood burst from his veins like a fountain.

His own power surged around him and he felt stronger than he'd ever felt. Swords were being drawn, Irving was trying to fight the cleanse, Lily was crying, Neria was silent: but he could feel her eyes on him and felt she was calculating her risk. He used his new strength to push back all the templars, smashing most of them into the walls with the clang and crunch of damaged armor. A couple stirred, Cullen among them, but the rest lay still.

He dropped the knife on the floor and reached out to Lily. He expected her to look relieved, grateful, maybe excited; but she was backed up against the wall staring at him with wide fearful eyes as if she didn't recognize him. "You… you said you never would," she said, voice shaking.

"I… I did this for us," he said, confused. "I told you I would do anything for you."

"Blood magic is evil. It corrupts people," she said, sounding more pious in those seven words than she'd ever sounded in the time since they'd met.

"I'm going to give it up! All magic! I don't even want to be a mage anymore!" he said, voice growing high and screechy as he became aware of Greagoir behind him, calling for more troops. "I only want to be with you. I love you, Lily, you know that!" She shook her head and the realization of what was happening hurt worse than the gash in his arm. "Run away with me, like we talked about. Please!"

She shook her head. She looked to Greagoir and bowed her head in submission.

She would go to Aeonar.

She wouldn't go with Jowan.

Lily would rather languish and die in the mages' prison than run away with him. He'd risked everything for her, and so had Neria, and Lily gave up at the moment of truth.

Neria shook her head in disgust and picked up the knife Jowan had dropped. She glared at Greagoir and Irving before slicing her own palm open. Her blood fell to the floor and where the drops landed, angry red flaming splotches began to form. She was summoning rage demons.

Jowan watched her, stunned. "Like I said," Neria told him, completely calm even as Greagoir was shouting and Irving was crying and pleading with her to stop. "They'd have to get through me first." And then she looked away and was smiling wildly and laughing.

He ran.


	6. Epilogue: Woven In My Soul

_Epilogue: Woven in My Soul_

He thought of Lily every day, but had never told anyone else about her before now. He blinked away the tears that came with the memories.

"Do you still love her?" Cailan asked.

"I don't know," Jowan confessed. "I do. But at the same time I know she didn't love me, so I shouldn't keep loving her." He often wondered if that's all he'd ever been to her: a means to an end. And if they really had been planning to make him Tranquil, or if she'd just told him that to force his hand. And then he felt awful for thinking such things, because Maker only knew what she was enduring in Aeonar, assuming she was still alive.

"I wasn't talking about Lily," Cailan said. "Neria. You did everything for Lily, and Neria did everything for you. Sounds like she loved you all along, to the point that she loved you enough to let you go."

He felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

"I guess that's why I'm here now," Jowan said after a silent pause to watch the fire flicker. "I'm trying to make up for all the people I hurt. But I keep hurting more as I go." Cailan nodded in understanding. "I didn't want to poison your uncle," he said. "I didn't want to fall for Lily, or to become a blood mage."

"But you did those things, and you are a blood mage," Cailan said, but without judgment. "I led a disastrous campaign and got thousands of good men and women killed. They looked to me to lead them, and I essentially killed them. It's woven in my soul as tightly as the good things I've tried to do as king."

"You're not making me feel much better," Jowan said. "I appreciate it, but… you know."

"I do." Cailan poked the fire with a long stick and the kindling gave way under the larger logs. They fell with an explosion of orange sparks. "I guess what I'm saying is that we all have things we're not proud of. I've got skeletons, you've got demons. We hide them, and sometimes they haunt us. We can let them haunt us, or we can make something of it."

Cailan stood and stretched. The darkness had deepened and the watches were patrolling. Jowan nodded his goodbye to the king, and though the fire was still burning, he was left alone. No matter what he would always be the blood mage; it was the only thing about him that seemed to matter to anyone, and it was the only thing about him Lily would remember.

But Lily hadn't been willing to die with him, let alone for him. Neria had given everything she had for him. And because of that, here he was, talking with the King of Ferelden about love and loss. Just two guys on a winter's night, lamenting the past and hoping for a better future. He was a blood mage, but he was blood mage to the King of Ferelden, and that had to count for something.

He closed his eyes and pictured the blonde elf mage the way he remembered her best, in her blue apprentice robes that made her eyes sparkle. "I'll make it up to you," he murmured to the image in his mind. "I promise."

* * *

><p><em>Author's Note: <em>Special thanks to Karebear for helping me out on this final chapter! And thank you to all who have read and reviewed. The story became something I was not expecting, and characters took on a life of their own. It got me back to writing after a long dry spell, and for that I'm grateful.


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